


the shadow of reason

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballroom Dancing, Bottom Steve Rogers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, M/M, Marriage, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Steve Rogers, Pregnant Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, Top Bucky Barnes, True Soulmates, as in there is only ONE per person for ETERNITY, no serum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen Rogers, 1st Viscount Dorchester, has one season to find a suitable husband, before his family's debts will become public knowledge. His mother always hoped for a love match; unfortunately, Steve left his heart behind in the colonies, and is resolved to marry an amiable second son or widower, so there will be little competition for his affections. He fully intends to get through the summer with as little fuss as possible, so the impending scandal will be overlooked. </p><p>Which is easier said than done, with the mysterious Lord Barnes, Earl of Winter, suddenly returned from his self-appointed exile, sending all the gossips into a flurry when he monopolises Steve's dance card at the opening event of the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"No, mother, not the pearls. We can get by without you losing them." Steve said, earnestly, aware that they had been a precious gift from his father, who was now long dead.

"Nonsense, darling, I am far over the age to wear such fripperies." his lady mother replied, a cheerful smile on her lips. "And I am afraid they would look dreadfully tacky on you, dear. Better to give them to a good home, on an omega with the right complexion."

She was bound and determined to show no pain at their situation, which had worsened gradually over the years, as Steve's medical expenses outstripped the meagre pension they had received for his father's death.

Steve knew she blamed herself for their misfortunes. Hers had been a love match, a mere gentlemen's daughter of no real name or fortune, to a young man whose noble parents had done all they could to prevent it. And they had enjoyed many happy years before they suffered the indignities of no family support, as Father's wages and business sense had kept them secure. But there was little help for a woman shunned by her family connections with one young son and nothing to offer another potential suitor. They had lived within their means in a small cottage in Devon, until Steve's sicknesses became aggressively hostile, and they left for warmer climates.

At his grandparents' death, all the money had gone to cousins that Steve had never met, and they had frittered it away in reckless endeavours, before dying themselves in the great plague that had swept across Europe. Steve had been in Africa with Mother at that time, his health demanding the constant heat, and he had awoken one humid morning to learn he had inherited a title and an estate in ruin. But for the grace of god, Steve might have married a missionary and lived a quiet life in the colonies, for which he had much affection but no true adoration.

There was but one man that Steve might have travelled the earth for, but he was too far above him, in both character and breeding, to have ever set his sights upon. (In truth, Steve never did learn his love's true name and fortune, but it was obviously substantial, from his manner and belongings, which were subtle in their elegance, and therefore a mark of true class).

Steve was an idealist in many things, but he was not reckless with his own heart. He did not think himself capable of being swept away by emotion, and yet it had happened all the same. The alpha had been impossible to resist; his twinkling blue eyes and dashingly handsome smile. His fine form as he cantered on his thoroughbred Andalusian, the whip of his black hair in the wind and the sound of his unbridled laugher; all of it Steve could bring to mind without strain, a constant whirl of memories hidden behind his eyelids each time he closed his eyes.

Steve's heart had broken, that final night, when the object of his attentions had clasped his hand so intently as he bid him farewell. He could have chosen to prevent Steve's leaving, right there beneath the ever-watchful stars, but he did not. It had been confirmation enough of what Steve had always known; that his fanciful notions were utterly one-sided and hopeless.

Steve had allowed himself the journey home to let out his anguished tears, and thus resolved to find a husband of good character, who could keep him in humour, so that they might pass time together pleasantly in honest friendship. He was not such a fool as to suppose that a man might be lucky enough to experience such a deep affection more than once. But he reserved a fervent hope that a lesser love might grow between them, in time.

It had been a long road home to England, but the experimental treatments of Dr Erskine, their travelling companion and friend, had seen Steve improve heartily. He was ready to take his place in the world. He had never dreamed to be situated at Brooklyn Hall, and welcomed into such fine society. He was not accustomed to the manner in which he was now addressed, as a lord in his own right. Steve was a gentleman, of that there could be no doubt, but he had not been educated in the finer points of London society, and relied upon his good friends, the Bartons, to lead the way.

They had kindly invited Steve and his mother to stay with them in their town house during the season, and allowed Steve to tag along to all of their social occasions. The first ball was a sennight away, and Steve was in dire need of new clothing. No matter what mother said, Dr Erskine's formulas were not miracles, but it was true that Steve was in far better shape than he had ever been, and wiry muscles had started to form on his thin shape. His few good omega evening suits now stretched obscenely across his thighs and shoulders.

Mrs Barton - Natasha, as Steve had been ordered to call her -  had kindly taken him shopping in all of her favourite little boutiques for day-wear, and would not hear of payment whilst the Rogers were her guests. But it was not appropriate for her husband to pay for Steve's formal wear, lest there be talk. With the calendar lined with events, he was in dire need of a new wardrobe. Debtors were looming on the horizon, Steve knew that the hard work he had done to balance the estate's sums in the spring, would not be enough to set up a steady repayment in the coming year, if he acted recklessly now.

So he watched his mother gather up her jewellery for the pawnbroker, and remained quiet. It would be worth it, if he could find a husband of decent means, who garnered little interest from others. A second or third son, perhaps, or an older widower with grown sons. So long as they were warm-hearted, Steve cared not for the other details. After all, he was looking for a sensible marriage, and not for love.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve surveyed the room as best he could, whilst remaining attentive to the conversation going on around him. Bright sun shone through the floor to ceiling windows, stain-glass crossed with slats in regular intervals, in the French manner. It was filled to the brim with fine-suited gentlemen, omegas and alphas both, and dotted thereabouts with the delicately dressed ladies. The stained windows cast brightly coloured light throughout the room, giving the effect they were seated amidst a rainbow. Sweet-smelling purple flowers, blooming on creeping vines, cascaded out of white pots, moulded in the shape of Grecian pillars. The whole room was lit by hundreds of candles in their silver candelabras. It was breathtaking in its luxury, and Steve was in awe.  
  
Mother was most thrilled the destination of today’s afternoon outing. It was a tea room which had been a particular favourite of hers as a child. She clung to Steve’s arm, her nails biting in for a brief moment as though to steady herself.

“Look at the lovely coloured glass windows,” she hissed, “That _is_ a new feature. Oh, Stephen!”

She clutched his arm again, and Steve was horrified to see tears spring into her eyes. He angled them away from the crowded doorway, whispering frantically; “Mother, are you quite well?”

At once, she drew herself up and gave a decisive sniff. “I was simply overcome for a moment, my dear. I had been so sure that you would never have this, and now here we are, and you are going to be the talk of town.”

“I sincerely hope not, Mother.” Steve blanched at the very thought of it.

There was no time for her retort; Mr Barton was beckoning them forwards. They had reached the front of the queue, but it seemed there were not enough seats left for their party of four. The maitre’d claimed their last four-seater tables had all been reserved, and they may have to split into two parties.

Natasha protested vocally, as Steve tried to clamp down on his disappointment. She had promised to point out all the eligibles therein, and the rumoured cads he must avoid if he wanted to remain an ‘anonymous beauty’ as she put it. Mother’s knowledge might be outdated, but she was still full of helpful advice, and she would know some of the people here. They would get by.

However, before they could be led to their separate tables, someone cried out that they were very welcome to join their table, as their companions were leaving. Evidently the voice belonged to a friend of the Bartons. Steve could not see whom, behind the barricade of their company and the apologetic staff. When the invitation was accepted by Mr Barton, the waitresses stepped aside, no longer needed. Steve was able to squeeze in between his mother, and the velvet rope which separated the seated area from the waiting customers, to glimpse a view of their rescuer. It was a broad-shouldered, solid-armed alpha, with a thick head of dark brown hair, and dark eyes to match.

But the feature which caught Steve’s attention most was the huge, shocking scar which travelled across the alpha’s right cheek, down his throat and disappeared underneath his collar. It was a brutal disfigurement of raised tissue, which twisted and coiled like a river frozen in pink flesh. Steve felt his eyes widening, his jaw slack with horror. He stepped back out of sight, lest his indelicate reaction be noticed.

As they moved across the splendid room, Steve trailed behind his party, ashamed of his immediate revulsion. Being an omega, Steve was expected to be small and frail, even if he was obviously moreso than most. At least his medical issues were not laid bare across his skin for all to see. His heart filled with pity for the man, who was surely used to people shrinking from the sight of him. What a difficult lot to be dealt in life.

Steve had been told he had a stubborn nature, and resolved to put it to good use. He would not be a shrinking violet when confronted by the ugly truth of the world, no matter what form it took. He would treat this man as though his face were unblemished, and meet his eyes squarely as decorum dictated.

When they reached the table, Steve was formally introduced to the Rumlows, which consisted of the scarred alpha, his younger sister and elderly aunt. He had carefully practised not reacting when being addressed by his title, and was thankful for it now. As promised, Natasha seated herself beside him, so that she could covertly advise him on the other attendees of the tea room.

The taking of afternoon tea was always a subdued affair, and today was no different. They passed the next hour or so in pleasant conversation, and Steve was careful not to stare. He met Mr Rumlow’s eyes with determination each time they spoke, and found their conversation most agreeable.

The calm was only punctuated once, when a party moving past their table lent over to give Natasha some thrilling news.

“Have you heard?” Trilled the excited young woman (whose name Steve could not recall, though she had called upon the Bartons earlier that same week), “the Earl of Winter has returned to England at long last! Mama spied him at the tanner’s and Mrs Hill says his house on the crescent is all opened, with no mistress in residence!”

Her revelation had no bearing on Steve, who did not know any of the parties in question, but Natasha seemed intrigued, and asked several questions in quick succession.

Instead of lingering on the fringe of the conversation, Steve turned back to the table, where Mr Barton was deep in conversation with the unmarried alpha about last spring’s archery contest. It sounded dreadfully good fun, and Steve listened with a wistful ear.

When they rose to leave, Mr Rumlow took Steve’s hand, which was dwarfed by the alpha’s fingers, and pressed a solemn kiss to his knuckles.

“I hope there is still room on your card for the Phillips’ ball, your lordship,” said the tall alpha.

Steve swallowed and smiled nervously, unsure how else to respond. It was unlikely there would be a single name on his dance card, a fact which had not bothered him before this point. Natasha threw him an incomprehensible look, and Steve felt his stomach twist under the weight of her scrutiny.

As they made their way out onto the street, she linked her arm with his and muttered into his ear; “Mr Rumlow does not often dance. You seem to have made _quite_ the impression.”

“But I didn’t do anything of note!” Steve hissed, entirely surprised by the other man’s interest.

Natasha hummed, which was no response at all, and Steve resigned himself to be eternally confused by the reactions of alphas.

It was very nice to think that he would at least know one of his dance partners prior to the event in question. These last few days before the ball had been filled with anxiety. Steve had of course attended dances before, though nothing of magnitude, and certainly nothing that could compare to an event in town. He understood that Lord Phillips, the Earl of Grantham, marked the beginning of the season with a truly extravagant ball. It was a tradition begun by his great-grandmother, and so successful, that it had been carried down through the generations.

Natasha had revealed with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that she and Mr Barton had not been invited before. Apparently, it was entirely owing to their connection to Steve that they were attending this year. This appealed to Mother's vanity very much, and underneath his bewilderment at the idea of being a sort-after guest, Steve could not deny the attention was flattering.

But it was galling to know that the imposing figure of Lord Chester Phillips even knew who he was. It was a sharp reminder that Steve would no longer be allowed to remain in the shadows. Whether by his design or not, his debut was going to garner some attention.

Steve fully intended to leave the vicious competition for suitors to old matrons thrusting their omegas and daughters into the limelight, like they were prize chickens at market. He was under no illusions. A lowly Viscount was hardly going to turn heads at societal occasions filled with Earls, Marquesses, and, if rumours were to be believed, maybe even a Duke or two. Steve was quite ready to get the first event behind him, so they could move on to smaller dances, where the majority of the other guests would not be nobility.

As they made their way home, he allowed his mind to wander over that afternoon’s conversation; but nothing stood out as memorable. If Mr Rumlow had showed him undue attention, he had not been obvious about it. Still, Steve thought, it was a positive beginning to his endeavour. If he could garner interest from alphas simply by paying attention when they talked, he should be able to find a mate in no time at all.


End file.
